


“Some People Never Know”

by AhmedA01



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF, British Singers RPF, Music RPF, Rock Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhmedA01/pseuds/AhmedA01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Bad reviews about Wings’ first album “Wild Life” doesn’t leave John as gleeful as he expected to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Some People Never Know”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. Unfortunately.

Hands cold and the tip of his nose a cherry red, John let himself into the apartment, having spent the entire day scouring the wintry city for newspapers and magazines from halfway across the country and all around the world. A smile gracing his chapped lips as he adjusted his booty under his arm, John quickly pushed the door closed with his shoulder before stepping into the foyer of the quiet apartment. Whistling a nameless tune, he flung his snow covered shoes off, the wet Chucks landing haphazardly in the corner as his slightly damp, socks sunk into the pristine white carpeting.

Padding towards the coffee table, John pushed an overflowing ashtray to the side before spreading his bundle on the glass tabletop, damp papers covered in tiny black newsprint toppling out of his arms. With a quick glance towards the television, he leaned forward to flick the on button before settling down into the comfortable white sofa, the eerie glow from the screen accompanying his words.

“Now, let’s see what they’ve got to say for themselves,” John muttered to himself as he opened the first newspaper in the stack,  _The Charleston Gazette_ , to the entertainment section.

Quickly flipping to the music reviews, John sat forward eagerly, hands on his knees as his eyes quickly scanned the page until they found the review that he was looking for.

_**Wild Life – Paul McCartney & Wings** _

‘ **Wild**  may break Paul’s slump. This is not really just another attack on Paul McCartney, though  **“Wild Life”**  is clearly his third disappointing solo …

Grinning, John threw the newspaper to the ground with a low chuckle as he reached for the next in the stack, the latest issue of Playboy.

Flipping through the pages, the older man stopped briefly on the centerfold, his eyes darting over the naked form of the barely post-pubescent woman, before turning the page with a shrug.

“Not my type,” he muttered to himself, as he continued flipping through the magazine.

After a minute or two spent turning over one glossy advertisement or another, John found the section he was looking for, his grin widening as his eyes feasted on the words.

_Ever since Paul McCartney traded in John Lennon for Linda Eastman, he hasn’t made much memorable music. But he does seem to be getting better all the time. After Ram, which was something of a disaster, Wings’ Wild Life sounds really good. It still doesn’t come up to the best stuff he did as a Beatle, but at least it isn’t irritating. Like Lennon, oddly enough, he seems to be moving back toward simpler, cleaner music. The album’s would-be rockers – “Mumbo” and “Bip Bop” — won’t give you an unquenchable urge to boogie, but in the quieter cuts, such as “Dear Friend,” there are real echoes of his fine early melodies. And even if including a Hawaiian jump version of Micky & Sylvia’s “Love Is Strange” was a tactical error, it at lest proves that great rock songs are not easily killed. _

“Damn straight,” John crowed, as he dropped the magazine to the floor and reached for the next one in the stack.

However, the smile on his face and the gleam in his eyes began to dim considerably as he flipped through the pages of the subsequent periodicals, the words of venom directed towards his old partner showing no intention of letting up.

_A poor effort from a man who was once a brilliant songwriter…_

_A great talent squandered on nursery rhymes…_

_Badly produced drivel…_

_Hands down one of the worst albums released this year…_

Face twisting into an expression of disgust, John flung the last magazine to the ground as he sat back with a sigh, hand rubbing across his face as he closed his eyes tiredly.

“That was supposed to be more fun,” John mused in annoyance, his words breaking through the white noise supplied by the television set.

With a shake of his head, the dark-haired man stood, turning off the idiot box as his hand absently patted his jacket pocket for the ever present carton of cigarettes as he made his way towards the window. Slipping the cigarette between his lips, John pressed his face against the glass as he gazed out at the hustle and bustle of mid-afternoon traffic, cars and people careening through piles of dirty snow, the symphony of blaring horns and rude insults drifting upwards.

Looking up, John’s face twisted into a grim smile as he noticed the billboard advertising the album that he spent all morning reading up on. The unlined face grinned impishly down at the entire city of New York from between his new band of misfits, that same old bass clasped reverently in his arms.

Shaking his head, John quickly turned away, lighting the cigarette quickly with shaking hands as he stilled himself against the unexpected shot of remorse that coursed through his body.

“No, no, no!” he muttered under his breath in an exhale of smoke. “I should be shouting and jumping with glee, celebrating the fact that that wanker’s album is being ripped apart by the press. The fucking darling of the media is finally getting what he deserves.”

With a look of resolve, John shook his head in the affirmative.

“Yeah, that’s it. I should be happy. Blissfully happy,” he repeated to himself, his act of bravado failing miserably as he turned back towards the window and caught another glimpse of his old partner’s face.

With another heavy sigh, John turned away from the view, unseeing eyes staring into the dark room before focusing on the phone that sat on the hallway table a few feet away from where he stood. Eyes widening comically, the dark-haired man began to shake his head in protest.

“No! Don’t you dare!” he said to himself, as he quickly sat back down on the couch. “There is no fucking way. I’m just going to sit right down here and wait for Yoko to get home. Yeah, that’s it. Just sit down and watch a little telly.”

But as he stood to flip the television on, his feet bypassed the set entirely and slowly propelled him forward. As soon as he neared the hallway table, John shook his head in the negative.

“You’re not picking up the bloody telephone,” he pleaded with himself, but his hands seemed to have developed a mind of their own.

In a matter of seconds, John’s hand closed around the receiver, and an expression of pure panic etched into his face as his fingers dialed a number that had not been called in quite a while.

“Are you daft, man?” he yelped painfully, as he placed the receiver against his ear, protesting to himself as it rang on the other end. “Put the phone down you tosser… Put the fucking phone…”

“Hello?”

At the sound of the familiar voice on the other end of the line, John paled considerably, the shaking of his hand growing increasingly violent.

“Is anyone there?”

Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, a small squeak bubbled forth from between John’s lips, however, the sound in no way could be construed as a word in any language.

“Fucking hell,” the voice on the other end groused. “If you’re calling to be a bloody nuisance, then do it on your own time. I have much better things to do than be bothered by a prank caller.”

Finally finding his voice, John croaked, “Paul?”

The silence over the phone was deafening.

“Paul? I know you’re there,” the older man said a bit more loudly, voice still slightly shaky.

“What the fuck do you want?” Paul suddenly bit out, the anger in his voice causing the other man to wince imperceptibly.

“I… I just… umm, how are you?” John asked lamely, shaking his head at the triteness of the question.

“Peachy, John. Just peachy,” the younger mad replied with a sarcastic bite.

“Umm, that’s nice,” John replied with a roll of his eyes, sickened at his own behaviour.

“Wow,” the younger man intoned mockingly. “Over a year since our last lovely screaming match and all you have to say is ‘That’s nice.’” With a bitter laugh, Paul continued. “Is that all you wanted?”

“No…” the older man trailed off, not quite sure on how to proceed. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I was reading the reviews of your latest…”

Not letting him finish, Paul cut in, his voice cold. “Oh, I think I get it now,” he ground out. “You wanted to call and gloat. Figured I’d be hearing from you sooner or later. Though I imagined it be later, after all, I’m sure that there is much more that the media wants to say about my work. Called to weigh in yourself?”

“No, Paul,” John replied with a sigh. “That’s not why I called at all.”

“Oh please, John!” the younger man exclaimed disbelievingly. “You know you’ve been waiting for just this. You can’t deny that the shit people have been saying about Wings’ first album doesn’t have you jumping with joy. I’ve known you for far too long to be convinced otherwise.”

“You’re right,” John replied simply with a shrug of his shoulders. “I was fucking ecstatic when I read the first reviews. Fuck, I couldn’t wait to go out and get my hands on every damn newspaper printed so that I could read more.”

“Well, gee,” Paul spat. “Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

But John simply continued on as though he hadn’t heard the younger man.

“But then I read on,” he continued, as he shook his head in disbelief, “And fuck, mate. Some of the stuff that’s been written is bloody harsh, even for me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Paul exclaimed “Too harsh for you? As the perpetrator of all of the hurtful things flung my way, I find that hard to believe,” the younger man snorted derisively.

Eyes narrowing into angry slits, John said quietly, “Fuck you, Paul.”

“Already have,” the younger man replied cattily. “It wasn’t worth it.”

A brief flicker of pain moved across John’s face at Paul’s remark, but instead of retaliating, he snapped. “Do you ever stop your yammering?”

“Do you?” Paul shot back childishly.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, John sighed tiredly.

“I’m just saying,” John continued slowly as he gathered his thoughts. “They’re just using you as their bloody scapegoat because you’re the one who they think broke up the Beatles. It’s just easier for them to place the blame of their shattered dreams on you. Bloody pathetic if you ask me,” he finished scornfully.

In a suspicious voice, Paul asked, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I… I don’t know,” John said with a nervous laugh. “You know me…”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. After a short pause he said softly, “I thought I did.”

“Well… ahem…”

A short silence descended between the two, as each became lost in their own thoughts. Finally breaking the silence, John took a deep breath and soldiered on.

“Paul,” he began matter-of-factly. “You’re not complete rubbish.”

With a hint of a smile in his voice, Paul replied, “Thanks. I think.”

“I’m sure your next album will be a fucking ray of sunshine and you’ll win all the critics over. You were always good at that.”

“Well, someone had to be, or else there would be no one to clean up your messes,” the younger man countered in a teasing voice.

“Touché,” John replied, with a deep chuckle.

Another silence descended upon the two men, though it was less uncomfortable than previous ones. After a moment or two, Paul’s voice sounded across the line.

“John,” he began hesitantly. “Thank you.”

Clearing his throat, John continued with a small smile, “Think nothing of it. Just don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Don’t worry,” Paul laughed quietly. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“As yours are with me,” the older man promised, a hint of something left unsaid in his voice.

With a nervous cough, Paul replied, “Yes, well…”

A second period of silence threatened to descend between the two, but John broke in, his forehead resting against the wall as he spoke.

“Paul…” he began in a hoarse whisper, eyes closed tight.

“Yeah, John?”

“I miss you…”

As soon as the words left his lips, John quickly hung up the phone, unable to hear what Paul’s reply might have been.

Running a shaky hand through his hair, John quickly moved towards the window, his eyes immediately seeking out Paul’s face in the skies above, the older man’s unwavering gaze trained on the other man’s face, long after the darkness shielded it from view.


End file.
